Playtime's Over Kids

A young boy of seven or eight puts away his Legos.  Rain patters lightly on the window. It’s a dark and gray afternoon.  He pauses before he clasps the Tupperware container shut, looking down at the colorful box in his hands, his face solemn and thoughtful.  Just then his mom enters.  “Done with your Legos, sweetie?” He look ups, his deep thoughts broken.  “Uh? Yeah, done.”  He snaps the lid shut and puts the Lego container on the shelf. He moves towards the window, looking out into the gray blur.  “Would you like some more for Christmas?”  she asks as she folds a shirt on his bed.  He doesn’t respond and continues to gaze solemnly out the window.  “Sweetie? Did you hear me?”  He looks up.  “Yes, I heard you,” he replies, “and no, I don’t want any more Legos.”  The mom looks up now as he turns his gaze back out the window.  “Really?? You’ve been getting Legos for years.  That doesn’t sound like you!”   He continues to stare blankly out the window. The raindrops slide like tears down the glass. “I know,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”